


one of these crazy old nights

by t_fic (topaz), topaz, topaz119 (topaz)



Series: small town girl [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, this will never be Ultimates 'verse compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/t_fic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/pseuds/topaz119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, nice,” Laura said. “A smartass.” His hand was warm and strong and calloused, but it was gentle where it was wrapped around her own hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one of these crazy old nights

For her twenty-fifth birthday, Laura McIntosh got a shiny new MS in agronomy from Mizzou (technically, the degree was in Crop, Soil and Pest Management, which was the educated way to say she got to fulfill a large number of childhood dreams and be paid to play in the mud.) In a further, semi-related celebration, she dumped her two-timing, rat-bastard of a high school sweetheart-cum-husband, walking out of their (admittedly crappy) condo with nothing but two suitcases of clothes, a backpack with her thesis research, a semi-lightened heart, and nowhere to go but up.

In celebration of _that_ , she took her advisor up on his offer of a corner of his basement for her stuff (she guessed the disaster area her marriage had turned into hadn’t been quite as big of a secret as she’d hoped), and blew the last of her TA stipend on a 10-day rafting trip down the Salmon River and bus fare to get to Idaho.

She’d never done anything so impulsive or financially reckless in her life. It turned out that it was fucking _awesome_.

Nobody knew her, nobody cared that she’d been young and stupid and given her heart to a spoiled mama’s boy with an endless well of excuses as to why every job, every class, and ultimately every single thing Laura did was just not good enough for his wonderfulness. For ten days, all she had to do was paddle and float and watch as the astounding landscape unfolded all around her. Even at night, the view was incredible, with the Milky Way rising on clear nights and the waxing moon skipping in and out of the blowing clouds on the others. For the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

Even sitting around at outfitters’ lodge, whiling away the last few hours before the trip back to reality wasn’t really dulling the high. The group she’d been out on the river with had commandeered a section of the lobby and had a cooler of beer they were sharing around. The rest of the crowd was either part of the group going out the next morning or the guides taking them, so everyone had at least the river in common. People ebbed and flowed, sharing pictures and comparing bruises and blisters and arguing good-naturedly over what their favorite rapid was and where the best views had happened.

It was nice--laid-back and easygoing--and it wasn’t until Laura was halfway back up to her room that it occurred to her that guy with the nice eyes (and shoulders and arms) who she’d been talking to on-and-off for most of the night, one of the group that was heading out to the river the next morning, had actually left a couple of low-key openings that she could have run with if she’d wanted more. And then it occurred to her that she maybe _did_ want more. And that even if she’d missed it once, she could turn around and go get it now .

Either that, the practical part of her brain pointed out, or she was delusional and he was just a guy with nice eyes who liked to talk, because it wasn’t like people had been lining up to sleep with her lately. 

But then, standing on the back stairs of what was little more than a Motel 6 in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho, Laura decided that it didn’t matter. She could keep going up to her single bed in the plain, serviceable room, and then start the trip back to Missouri and the rest of her life in the morning, or she could go back downstairs and see which possibility was right, and even if it was the delusional one, it wouldn’t matter. She’d never see the guy again--she could live through five minutes of hideous embarrassment if that was how it played out. 

Before she could chicken out (or start thinking sensibly, Laura wasn’t sure which) she turned and ran back down the stairs. Almost everyone had left, but right when she was about to decide that she’d dithered long enough to lose the opportunity, she caught sight of a pair of broad shoulders on the far end of the room. Keeping with her theme of not second-guessing herself, she squared her own shoulders and kept right on moving. 

She was no more than halfway there when he straightened up and looked over his shoulder, like he could feel her watching him. 

“Hey,” he said, and yes, very nice eyes, but she wasn't sure how she'd forgotten the smile, which was even better. “Thought you were turning in for the night?”

“I was on my way,” Laura said, smiling back, because that smile was impossible to resist (and it had been a really long time since someone had watched her walk toward them with such interest.) “But then I kind of thought I might have missed a thing or two?” She shrugged self-consciously. ”I’m sorry; I’m really out of practice with this--” 

“Nah, it’s more like I’m not nearly as smooth as I like to think I am.” His smile deepened, which did very interesting things to the creases around his eyes. “So, if you’re back, can I take it that the answer to those things isn’t no?”

“You're right; it’s not no,” Laura answered. “But it’s probably not yes until I get a name--”

“Clint,” he said immediately. He held out his hand so she could shake it. “Clint Barton--I have multiple forms of ID, and if references would help, I can get you those, too--over the phone would be fastest. If you need written ones--which is totally fine, I'm cool with whatever--say the word and I'll go hunt down a fax--”

“Oh, nice,” Laura said. “A smartass.” His hand was warm and strong and calloused, but it was gentle where he'd wrapped around her own hand. 

“Yeah, I’m hoping that’s not a deal-breaker, because that pretty much goes right to the core.”

“No,” Laura said. “It’s not.” She was still holding his hand, but he didn’t seem to mind, so she decided not to let go, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what else to do. “Oh, I’m Laura.”

“Nice to meet you, Laura. You, um, want a drink?” he asked, and when she shook her head, he added, “Ok, here comes another smooth line--see how I’m telling you up-front so you don’t miss it?" Laura rolled her eyes at him; he grinned at her. "Do you want to go outside, catch the moonrise?”

“That would be nice,” Laura said, and then, as he held the door for her, she smiled and finished off, “And that really was _very_ smooth. I probably wouldn’t have missed that one at all.”

“Good to know,” Clint said, one side of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided smile that was just ridiculously attractive. Laura almost regretted how the darkness they were stepping out into meant she couldn’t see it anymore. “Even if you’re just being nice, my self-esteem thanks you.”

“Your self-esteem doesn’t sound like it needs much encouragement,” Laura answered, stepping further into the deep shadows thrown by the porch, still holding his hand and drawing him along with her. He moved with her easily, and when she stopped and turned back to cup his face with her other hand, he tilted his head down and met her in a kiss that started off slow and careful, but turned into anything but in the space of a couple of heartbeats. The corner of the porch she’d led them to was dark, but she didn’t need to see to start another kiss after they’d broken apart to breathe, and another one after that.

“Thought we were coming out to see the moonrise,” Clint finally murmured against her mouth. His voice was low and uneven, enough that Laura didn’t feel all that self-conscious about her own pounding heart.

“It’s there,” Laura said, turning her head so she could drag her mouth along and under his jaw, rough with stubble, different, _so different_ than what she’d been used to. That thought alone-- _different, different_ \--was enough to make her dizzy, but she pulled herself together. “Do you really want to stop?”

“Yeah, no,” Clint answered, and kissed her again, harder this time, biting not at all gently at her mouth and jaw, his breath hissing in as she tightened her fingers in the short hair at the base of his neck, digging her nails into his skin, and, _oh_ , fuck yeah, because that did it for him, knocked him into a place where he had her up against the wall, his tongue fucking into her mouth, fingers pressing into her hips until she could get her legs wrapped around him, bring him even closer, feel him hardening against her. 

“I don’t have--I’m sharing a room,” Laura gasped when he finally let her up for air. “It was cheaper that way--”

“Me, too,” Clint said, his mouth moving against the skin of her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. “But my buddy -- he owes me, so we’re good if that’s what you want.”

“I… almost don’t care,” Laura half-breathed, half-laughed, which was another freaking miracle, because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that in the middle of what was definitely looking like pre-sex. “But yeah, something a little more private would be good.” She wasn’t quite at a place where she felt like she could relax into sex against a wall with a stranger, but if he kept moving into her the way he was, she was going to give it her for-damn-sure best shot. 

Clint kissed her one more time, steady and sure, and then stepped back so she could slide down and stand on her own again. She lost a little more time to the feel of him moving against her, but that was okay--there wasn’t a class or a job or anyone waiting for her. She could take her time and live in the moment, and well, if the moment happened to include shoulders and arms and a wicked, wicked mouth, more power to her. She was sure there’d be a fair number of far less exciting moments in her future.

Clint hesitated at the door, looking through the screened portion intently before opening it and catching her hand to pull her inside. “All clear,” he murmured. “Go, go, go,” and they ran for the stairs. For all the muscles Laura had just been pressed up against, Clint moved with a light grace that got them up to the second floor and into his room with no one the wiser. 

“Hang on,” he said, grabbing a bag off the bed closest to the door and tossing it out into the hall, and then dragging the straight-backed desk chair over so he could wedge it under the door knob. “Okay, we’re good.”

Clint turned back to her with a smile, but he stayed where he was, giving her space, Laura realized, which was nice of him (and went a long way toward shutting up the part of her brain that was still freaking out about this entirely unexpected turn of events) but really not necessary. She took the three steps needed to press up against him and things got back on track in a hurry. 

As good as kissing on the porch had been--and it had been really, really good--making out with clear intent--not to mention a bed--was that much better. The desperate edge was gone from Clint’s kisses, but he hadn’t lost any of the focus. He let Laura steer them across the room, trusting her to back him slowly toward the bed while he took care of their clothes, his t-shirt first, then hers, drawing the old, soft cotton up over her head and smoothing his hands down across her shoulders, her arms, her back, coming to rest tucked up under the hook-and-eye of her (very no-nonsense) bra.

“You said you were out of practice,” Clint said, when she looked up at him. “I’m just checking in that we’re not moving too fast.”

“No,” Laura answered, her voice stuck somewhere in her throat. “No, I’m good if you are.”

“I’m so good I can barely stand it,” Clint said, easing her bra off her shoulders and down her arms. “Really fucking good.”

“Yes,” Laura agreed, the word sighing out of her as he traced patterns over her skin, his hands warm and rough against her arms and waist, the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrists, the curve of her breasts. He was taking his time, watching his hands and how she reacted to his touch, when she moved into it, when it made her shake. She liked that, liked knowing she was being seen, wondered with the small part of her brain that wasn’t sparking and humming with his touch how long it had been since that had happened. 

He stopped teasing then, and everything else--everything that wasn’t his fingers shaping and rolling and tugging her nipples, the taste of his skin, the quick in-and-out of his breath as she dragged her nails down his abs and under his jeans--everything that wasn’t right there with them fell away. 

“Come on,” Clint was saying as they got to the bed, “come on,” and he brought her down with him, a controlled crash that left them side by side, skin to skin, his head arched back, his throat a long, beautiful curve that she couldn’t resist. “Yeah,” he said, the single syllable flattening into a low groan as she bit down, a wordless vibration against her mouth as she did it again, and then once more, so distracted by the unguarded sounds that she barely noticed his hands until they were sliding under her jeans and pressing up into her. 

“Oh,” Laura ground out, her body jerking wildly. He stroked her quick and sure, the callouses on his fingers adding an intensity that was close to painful even with how she was already wet for him. “Oh, _god_.”

“Too much?” Clint breathed, easing back enough that Laura almost cried at the sudden loss. She arched up into him, grabbing and dragging at his wrist. He took the hint and let move him back where she wanted him, and she kissed him, half as a reward, half as in celebration of just how fantastic it felt to be here with him.

“No,” she panted once she tore her mouth away. “No, it’s good, it’s just been awhile--”

“Yeah,” he said, low and hoarse, his fingers moving over her and in her, his eyes back to watching her with that focus and care she’d seen in him earlier. “Yeah, me too.”

“Let’s fix that,” Laura said, working her hand into his jeans despite feeling like she might shake apart from everything he was doing to her. He was already hard, the tip of his cock slick and wet before she even touched him, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love the choked, breathless reaction she got when she wrapped her hand around him, her thumb skating in quick, easy circles around the head of his cock. 

“Baby,” Clint groaned, “I’m all for fixing things, but if you want anything more than this--” He pushed his cock up into her hand and made the most delicious whining sound when she let her nails drag along his length, “--you have to-- _fuck_ , you have to stop.”

Since she did want more-- _so_ much more--she backed off and they lay tangled together, gasping and panting, for a long few seconds, until Laura shook herself out of the haze and said, “More. _Now_.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Clint agreed, throwing himself back to scrabble at the duffel half-open on the floor while shoving at his jeans. Laura twisted and squirmed, and managed to get naked by the time he rolled back to her, a strip of condoms in his hand, and it was her turn to watch him, watch while he tore a packet open, watch as he rolled the latex down over his cock. She reached for him then, touching his thighs and cock and belly, drawing him to her, guiding him into her.

“So good,” she murmured, shifting her hips up to get him as deep inside her as she could. He fucked her with a slow, fierce rhythm that let her feel every inch of him, each stroke building on the one before it, one after the other after the other. He dropped his head and kissed her, and let her nip and bite at his mouth and jaw. She touched him everywhere she could reach, arms and shoulders and back, dragged her nails along his spine and across his ass, so that he was all that she could feel and taste and breathe. 

Clint started to quicken his thrusts, but she wasn’t ready for it to be over, and when she told him that, when she gathered her courage and told him what she wanted, he went back to the slow, relentless pace, shifting his weight to one arm so he could play with her breasts, flicking and pinching her already aching nipples until she was clawing at his biceps, equal parts wanting more and being sure she’d go mad from what she had already. 

“Come on, baby,” he gritted out. “Come for me, wanna feel you come on my cock, please, please--” He rolled her nipples ruthlessly, pinching and twisting them hard enough that Laura stuffed a fist into her mouth to muffle the noises she was making, so he wouldn’t think she wanted him to stop. She arched up into him, his cock fucking into her again and again and again, catching her exactly right so that when he groaned, “Please, I can’t--please--” it was a simple thing to hold him close and let it all sweep over her, to wrap her arms and legs around him and let him bury his face in her neck as she brought him along with her.

\- - -

Laura wasn’t exactly sure what the post-sex etiquette was supposed to be, especially since there was somebody else sharing the room, but Clint was warm and relaxed against her, and he didn’t seem to mind that Laura was absently tracing patterns over his skin, so she decided she’d just play it by ear.

She truly meant to keep it all light and casual, but now that she wasn’t half-crazy with lust, she kept noticing scars in the skin she was stroking. After the third or fourth one, she must have twitched or something, because Clint lifted his head and looked at her. 

“Knife,” he said quietly. He took her hand and moved it to his ribs. “Here, too.” 

She studied him for a few seconds, and then traced up his back to the rough, jagged seam on the back of his shoulder. “AK-47,” he told her.

“Military? Police?” 

“Army,” he answered. 

“Special Forces?” she guessed, and when he quirked an eyebrow at her, she explained, “Back home, it’s farm country--there aren’t many other jobs and half the farms are going under, so if you didn’t have a way out, you joined up. Most of my high school class went--the ones that came back watching everything like you do, they all were more than just basic infantry.”

“Sharp,” Clint answered with that funny half-smile, but didn’t answer otherwise, instead reaching out and taking her hand. He stroked his thumb over the base of her ring finger, right where she still had a faint tan line--very faint, talk about sharp, Laura thought--and asked, “Do I need to be watching my back?”

“No,” Laura answered, surprisingly easily. “No, I ended that a whole two-and-a-half weeks ago.”

“Oh,” Clint laughed. “So I’m the rebound?”

“You,” Laura said with a satisfaction that bordered on smugness, “you are my celebration. Maybe my prize. _Definitely_ a good thing.”

“I can live with that,” Clint said, ducking his head down to kiss her with a lazy thoroughness that Laura was only too happy to return, at least until there was a heavy thump at the door that made her half jump out of her skin. There was another thump, like someone was kicking at the door, and then the doorknob rattled. The chair Clint had wedged under it shifted a little, but held and the door stayed closed.

“Oh, fuck you, Barton,” came a man’s voice from the hall. There was another thump and some muffled cursing and stomping that gradually faded away.

“Oh,” Laura said, staring up at Clint, who was glaring daggers at the door. “Oh, should I--I can--”

“No, no,” Clint said, flopping back down beside her. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go, but yeah, no, not on his account.” He grinned at her. “Seriously, even if he didn’t owe me big time over a certain incident that may or may not have involved goats and a, uh, exotic dancer--” Laura couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of her at the long-suffering look on his face. “Yeah, see? He’s gonna owe me for that for forever, but even if he didn’t, that, that was not cool. He gets here a half-hour ago and he’d have seriously messed up my whole night. A guy should know better than that.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with you there,” Laura said, laughing a little more at his righteous indignation, but only a little, because she really was grateful not to have had an extra complication to the night’s entertainment. “But I can go if you’d rather get some sleep before you go out on the river tomorrow.”

“Or,” Clint said, “we could nap a little and then ‘celebrate’ some more.” He said it lightly, but when Laura looked, his eyes were careful and guarded, like he was ready for her to leave, no matter how much--or possibly, in spite of--he wanted her to stay. 

“We could do that,” Laura said, and smiled as the lines around his eyes relaxed. She didn’t think that sort of a thing was supposed to matter with a one-night-stand, but what did she know? For that matter, she decided, what did she even care? Her life, her rules. Clint thumped the pillows and straightened the covers, and settled himself, letting her curve her body to fit around his so the sound of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so I've been barely managing to grind out 100 words / day on writing projects and then this came flying out of my head over the weekend--I'm pretty sure there's more to follow. 
> 
> Title from the Eagles' _One of These Nights_.


End file.
